


Love Never Dies AU

by instant_n00dles



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Agreste Twins AU, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Marinette's Parents died, OOC Felix (kinda), PV Felix not canon bc he is horrible, Phantom of the Opera AU, also hate how he is an exact clone of Adrein, felinette - Freeform, felix is chat noir, marinette is not ladybug, no powers tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/instant_n00dles/pseuds/instant_n00dles
Summary: The opera ghost really existed. He was not— as long believed— a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak room attendants, or the concierge. Yes— he existed in flesh and blood, although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom: that is to say of a spectral shade. The opera ghost was unequivocally alive; at least in the eyes of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.When she first arrived at Monsieur Agreste’s House of Opera the mere notion of a secret phantom was laughable: ghosts do not exist. To her, they were merely characters in the stories papa would (at one time) read her. Phantoms and ghosts alike were ways to get children to behave— to leave their parents alone— to give them one semblance of peace. As a young girl Marinette already knew this; hence, even something as mysterious as the creaking in the ceiling, or the sudden disappearance of the show’s leading lady could be chalked up to rats and last minute jitters—that is until he started teaching her.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Felix Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	1. Think of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Before anyone thinks anything, I know Love Never Dies is a sequel to The Phantom of the Opera. I just think it sounded sweeter, and some of the songs are actually kinda good! The first paragraph of the summary is supposed to be an homage to the original book (aka the exact intro) but the rest is 100% mine! Hopefully y'all are safe, and this AU can bring you a little joy!

“And here! Lot 666—a chandelier in pieces. Many of you might remember the events leading up to its destruction, and tales of Chat Noir, the so-called Phantom of the Opera. We have recently fitted the fixture to use modern day electricity: by doing so you can all see what was once the glory of this Opera House, and maybe scare away the ghost of nights past.” 

...

Marinette had always been a chorus girl. 

She had since her first day walking into the Agreste Opera House, and though it was a reality many would have been content to live in, something inside the girl pushed her to be better. Call it wasted optimism, as many did in the past, but the need to go beyond what everyone expected of her drove Marinette to the position she was in today. 

Today would be her first ever audition for the lead role.

“Dearest, you must stop shaking!” a voice cooed in her right ear. Leave it to Alya to call her out on her apparent nervousness. Of course, Marinette was thankful for her friend, someone more akin to a sister, but a small part of her wished she had done a better job concealing the shaking. 

“You’re ready for this—I know you are! You’ve practiced harder than anyone else up for the role, and  _ definitely  _ more so than Chloe” 

“Thanks, Alya,” the nervous girl replied, “but I can’t help myself!” Though she hated to admit it, somewhere in the back of her mind Marinette knew Chloé would effortlessly receive the role: so far, she had every year. Whether it  _ was  _ because of her talent and capability as a performer or because of her father’s pull in the opera house, the noirette had yet to make up her mind— after all, Chloé could not sell out full houses if the people did not like her voice. Still, it bothered her: for years Marinette had practiced and practiced role after role, only to be denied a chance in the limelight in preference to the Prima Donna. 

“Don’t be” Alya firmly stated, “your voice has come a long way from the start of the season, and it is only a matter of time before Queen Bee is overthrown.” Both girls giggled before promptly being shushed by Madame Bustier, the woman leading the auditions. 

“And up next is Mademoiselle Chloé Bourgeois auditioning for... the lead” she called, ignoring the groans heard throughout the room, “Perform well my dear, and may Lady Luck be on your side” Madame Bustier concluded, leaving Chloé to begin her audition. 

As she had every year, the blonde performed her rendition of  _ Hannibal _ , belting loudly during each verse 

“Is it just me, or did she get worse” Marinette could hear Alya say under her breath. Chloe Bourgeois wasn't an especially bad singer by any means, though what she had could hardly be called a gift. With help from some of the most formidable teachers in Paris, the girl's voice was shaped into something bearable, but desire was found naturally— no amount of lessons could teach Chloe to have a want so desperate 

“As you know,” Madame Bustier scolded, “Mademoiselle Bourgeois deserves our complete attention— and that cannot happen when there is chatter on the main floor” Marinette sank into her seat as Chloé scoffed

“In all honesty, I don’t know why you let her in here at all Madame B— as if  _ she’s _ going to get the part” The way Chloe spoke to Marinette was always so demeaning, but in all fairness she spoke to everyone that way. Still, the comment felt unwarranted; leave it to Chloe to attack Marinette’s greatest insecurity. 

Noticing the harshness of the comment, Madame Bustier frowned, “that will be all Mademoiselle Bourgeois— you may continue where you left off” Even though there was little Madame Bustier could do to put the blonde in her place, Marinette felt content with her quick response. At least the staff was on her side, so she wasn’t so alone 

…

Bourgeois auditions were notoriously long for all the wrong reasons. It primarily depended on the length of the piece the girl went with every year:  _ Hannibal _ . The added notes, repeats, runs, and fermatas did nothing to stop the music from staying past its welcome, and with help from Sabrina, it was nearly impossible for the song to finish on time. Knowing this, it was easy for anyone in the crowd to get lost in their thoughts: afterall, they did have a solid 15 minutes before 

Mademoiselle Bourgeois would finally step down, and having heard it countless times before,  _ Hannibal  _ was getting duller by the second. Needless to say, Marinette had been a casualty in this war many of times 

“Marinette? MARINETTE!” The ditzy girl eventually snapped away from her daydreams: Chloé’s audition must have finally ended. “Madame Bustier has been trying to get your attention! You remember—for your audition?” Alya poked 

“Don’t even try: it’s no use Césaire. Dupain-Cheng would never get the role regardless of whether she were here or not!” Chloé added, looking away from both girls, “Madame Bustier already  _ knows _ the role belongs to me.” 

“She only knows as your father paid for the production” Alya scoffed, trying to defend her best friend.

“I’m sorry, did you say something, Césaire?”

“Why, yes Chloé. I said your father is a—” 

“That will be enough” a firm voice cracked through. It was Madame Mendeleiev— head of the production. 

“Ladies, I would expect you both to understand the importance of working together, and I assure you would not like the consequences should you not” She gave a large frown before continuing, “But luckily for you that is not why I am here today”

Alya and Chloe glared at each other as a crowd gathered around the stage. When Madame Mendeleiev opened her mouth, the room hushed, “Before we conclude auditions”, she said, glancing at Marinette, “I have an announcement for the troop” 

Now that everyone’s attention was on the teachers in the front, she continued, “As you may have heard, the great Gabriel Agreste has recently passed. Therefore, the ownership of the Opera House will be passed down to his youngest son, Adrien.” The room burst in outcry, most protesting the new change in management.

“The young Agreste belongs in an office, not the opera!” 

“What about our wages— will they cut our wages?” 

“Is he even old enough to manage the House?”

“Please everyone! Settle down!” Madame Mendeleiev impatiently demanded, “The young Agreste will have time to prove to everyone he is more than capable in running our opera house—  _ his _ opera house.” Though it didn’t seem to convince the crowd, Madame Mendeleiev carried on

“He is to arrive any minute, to check on our production— to make sure we are up to  _ his  _ standards.” All of a sudden, Marinette tensed, “Madame Bustier, the auditions— _ my  _ audition—does this mean it’s canceled?” After how hard she’d worked, after everything she had done— it couldn’t end like this! Even if Chloe was destined to get the lead role this year, was it too much to ask for a fighting chance? All she wanted was a moment to be able to prove herself, but quickly her prospects had seemed to be shifting. Suddenly, a voice was heard by the door. 

“Fear not for your audition Mademoiselle” a strange, new voice called, “It will continue as planned if I have anything to say about it.” Upon hearing this, Marinette turned around. A tall man stood in front of her; he had bronze colored skin and wore thin bifocals which suited the color of his dark hair. His eyes were a strong amber— yet his demeanor was calm and collected. The mysterious man gazed around the room, landing his eyes on Alya, before quickly looking away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Monsieur Nino Lahiffe” 

…

“Adrien, friend, you have to relax— it’s just an opera house!” Nino quipped, checking the time on his watch 

“The most famous opera house in all of Paris, Lahiffe— The House of Agreste” Adrien replied. It was impossible to not be nervous. For years, his father had run the esteemed location to the highest of his standards, and now the rest was up to his youngest son. If Adrien could not get off on the right path, the work of his father, Gabriel, would have amounted to nothing. 

“It’s a big responsibility” the young Agreste sighed, “and I don’t want to mess it up.” Nino smiled. While both friends knew relatively little about the arts, the chance of running Paris’s most valued Company thrilled both men. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Adrien”

“ _ We’ll  _ do fine, Nino. Don’t forget you’re here with me to run a business, not chase after ballerinas” Adrien smirked; at least he would have his best friend by his side if the deal didn’t pan out, but that wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about 

“I wonder what might have happened to the house in my absence” he asked, not sincerely expecting an answer, “It has been many years since I my father took me to visit” 

“Why Adrien! It almost seems to me like you may have a special someone waiting on your return!” Nino teased, theatrically throwing himself over the blonde. Though he was seemingly handsome and surprisingly wealthy, Adrien had never settled down for longer than a few months, yet sooner or later that would have to change. 

“Truth be told,” he began humoring Nino, “there was this girl who used to hang around the house when I was little.” Adrien blushed, “Honestly, I think she had a bit of a crush on me; I wonder what happened to her” 

Nino sighed, For all we know your Little Lottie has gone to greater places, Adrien; maybe it would be better for you to occupy your thoughts with something else”

“Perhaps you are right, my friend” and yet, the boy could not let it go: Adrien had always wondered what became of Marinette when he left the opera house. She was very talented, though he knew there was no way she could find a teacher— not when Chloe had told her father to blacklist the girl when they first started performing. Truth be told, Adrien did think it was overkill, but then again, this was Chloe

“She used to love dancing” he added, reminiscing about a time when he was much,  _ much _ younger, “I would say she was very good at it too” 

“Who knows?” the new manager chuckled, “maybe she became a chorus girl!”

The blonde beamed “You really think so?” 

“Not quite” Nino chuckled “Think about it, Adrien! It has been 15 years since you last were at your father’s opera house, and you were only 8 at the time! Do you honestly believe that she would stick around for so long?” 

Adrien frowned, “Well Nino,” he began, “I’m afraid she may not have had anywhere else to go” 

He recalled Marinette’s parents falling ill the year he left, yet of their fates he did not know. It was true the likelihood of his old friend staying was slim, though for some odd reason, Adrien guessed the world had not been kind to her. 

“What’s so wrong with hoping to see a familiar face anyway?” he finally asked 

“Nothing, I suppose,” Nino answered, “but I would rather you be focused on running your new opera house  _ now _ and daydreaming  _ later _ . Besides, once we get your new opera house stable again, I’m sure you can use that wealth of yours to find your bride to be! There is plenty of time, Adrien, what’s the rush in getting married?” 

“My parents were happily married and had me by the time  _ they _ were 23, Nino,” Adrien laughed, “but who said anything about marriage? I guarantee you my old friend is just that,  _ a friend _ .” 

“Why do I feel like that’s not true?” Nino sighed just as the carriage stopped, “Regardless, I’m afraid we’ve run out of time to discuss it: welcome to your new opera house, Vicomte Agreste” he joked stepping out into the lot 

...

“Nino Lahiffe? As in Gabriel’s visual director Nino Lahiffe?” Alya questioned, cocking her head at Marinette. She wished her friend had not said anything, as the man— now identified as Monsieur Lahiffe— grinned devilishly. Swiftly, he dipped his head and bowed down, reaching for Alya’s hand and taking it down with him. 

“The one and only, Mademoiselle..?”

“Césaire. Alya Césaire.” she responded, looking somewhat flustered. 

“Mademoiselle Césaire” he repeated but quickly turned to address the room, “I’m afraid the rumors are true,” he began quite coyly, “The Agreste Opera House has found herself in the possession of new owners!” Once again everyone tensed: except this time no one dared voice any opinions; so, Nino continued

“Rest assured that your troop is in good hands: Adrien— that is to say Vicomte Agreste— and I will be working our hardest to maintain the dignity and quality of this company, which of course has been the public expectation.” Nino spoke very suavely, as if he were someone with great importance, and in this case, the latter was true, except no one but Alya had seemed to recognize him. 

“We both know” he continued, “the importance each and every one of you have in this production, which is why— at least as of now— no one shall have to worry about their work.” At this, the room relaxed, “Though if we— once again being Vicomte Agreste and myself— find anyone lacking in spirit or structure, consider your time under new management short.” 

Marinette, at long last, let out a breath she did not know she had been holding. Proving herself wouldn’t be difficult— it was whether she had the chance to or not that found itself to be difficult. Almost as if reading her thoughts, Nino finally finished. 

“Now I believe a young Mademoiselle is still waiting for her audition?” He said, this time looking straight at Marinette. She blushed.

“I suppose I should get out of your hair then ladies” 

“Wait Monsieur Lahiffe!” Madame Bustier called, “I believe if you wish to see the potential this opera house has, you should stay and watch Marinette perform!”

“Ahh— Mademoiselle Marinette it was?” Nino asked, once again looking at Marinette

“Mmm” She responded “Dupain-Cheng— Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Monsieur.” 

“Then what is it that you do, Mmmarinette Dupain-Cheng?” he teased

“I dance in the chorus for the troop, Monsieur” He raised his eyebrow and asked a question more directed towards Madame Bustier and Madame Mendeleiev then herself

“A chorus girl auditioning for the main production?” 

“I assure you Monsieur, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng shows much promise” Madame Bustier answered

“Yes,” Madame Mendeleiev interrupted, “and I’ve heard rumors she has a wonderful teacher; it shows in her voice.” 

“Very well: since you all seem to have such high regard for Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng— ” 

“HOLD IT” a shrill voice called from the crowd “Lahiffe, you can not be serious? Dupain-Cheng? The chorus girl? If you allow her to audition then surely we are all doomed!” Once again, Chloe stepped in to steal the spotlight; however, she was quickly shut down

“—I see no harm in her attempt” He finished firmly, ignoring the blonde’s outburst. To Marinette, it came off as a bit condescending: according to Gabriel’s own policy anyone could try out, and what was it he meant  _ exactly  _ by “attempt”? 

After an awkward pause, Madame Bustier eventually spoke, “I guarantee Monsieur Lahiffe you will enjoy her performance” Nino eyed Marinette up and down before giving her a warm smile 

“Though, I would like to know if Monsieur Agreste is coming?” the rehearser pressed, ”I’m sure Marinette is kind enough to wait” All too quickly, the gentelman frowned. 

“He was supposed to be here by now” was his only reply

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if we continue in his absence?” 

“No— of course not; you may begin whenever you are ready” 

Once everyone settled in their places, Marinette got up on the stage. From here, she could see her eager friend find a spot next to Nino, who was still eyeing Marinette quite intensely. Her other friends gave her warm smiles and small waves of encouragement, sending her all the luck they had. Before she began, Madame Bustier, who was now accompanied by Madame Mendeleiev, gave her final words

“Perform well my dear, and may Lady Luck be at your side.” Finally, when the first notes began to play, Marinette started

“Think of me, think of me fondly 

When we’ve said goodbye

Remember me, once in a while 

Please promise me you’ll try 

When you find that once again you long 

To take your heart back and be free 

If you ever find a moment 

Spare a thought for me” 

...

Adrien knew everyone was waiting for him inside. Why he couldn’t bring himself to enter the old building was beyond him, yet he had hoped Nino would be fine on his own. More importantly, he had hoped Nino could forgive him for leaving at such an important time. Maybe it was her— yes, seeing her would be too hard. Adrien hadn’t seen Marinette since they were children, yet he still couldn’t bear the thought of her forgetting him. It was probably too much to ask for— and he knew it was selfish to leave his friend for a girl— but seeing her,  _ if she was still even there _ , was too much to handle. Regardless, he regretted the way he managed things: surely this would not make an ideal first impression, but Nino would be fine, and he would be able to take care of the fall out later. 

“Adrien, friend! There you are!” a sudden shout came. Speak of the devil himself, “Why the unfortunate disappearance? I’m sure you know all the house was expecting you” 

When he got no answer, Nino resumed, “This is not about that girl is it? Oh Adrien— I thought we covered this! The likelihood that she remained is far too slim to count on, and you  _ know _ you have time to find someone to settle down with!” 

Annoyed with where their conversation was headed, Adrien switched gears, “What took you so long anyway Lahiffe?”

His friend huffed, “Well since I decided to show up” he responded quite icely, “I got to see some of the talent your opera house boasts to have” 

“So you’re basically saying you got distracted by the ballerinas” Adrien smirked and shook his head, happy that he successfully avoided  _ whatever _ conversation they were about to have

“I’ll have you know,” Nino retorted, “it was just  _ one _ ballerina” 

“Well she must have made some impression on you to get you to that shade of crimson” 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have come out looking so golden if you had seen her friend” at least he assumed that they were friends. Alya had been beaming up at Marinette the whole time she was singing, and quite frankly, Nino found that act to be devastatingly charming, but Alya would have to wait if he wanted to live up to his promise and run the opera house successfully, “she was the one singing” he finished 

“What role?” Adrien asked innocently 

“I believe it was lead, why?” 

“Ahh, then you must be talking about Chloe” Adrien sighed 

“Mademoiselle Bourgeois? The blonde? No, I think her audition was up before I came in” This piqued Adrien’s curiosity. Chloe was  _ always _ the last audition, primarily because no one else thought they had a chance against her. Whoever went against the reigning champion needed to have skill, but more importantly they needed  _ guts _

“Do you remember her name?” Adrien would have to congratulate the girl who stood up against Chloe

“Marinette, I think. Marinette Dupain-Cheng” 

What? 

…

When she at last stopped singing, Marinette took a deep breath

“Marinette! What a wonderful job!” Madame Bustier cheered, and even Chloé’s scoffs could not subdue the moment. After years of waiting, it finally seemed Marinette would get her shot in the limelight

“Now that auditions have concluded, the Agreste Opera House is ready to announce their cast for this year’s performance” Madame Bustier glowed with pride, which was seemingly a good sign for the noirette 

“But first, I’d like to thank Monsieur Lahiffe for joining us.” Madame Mendeleiev interjected, “As I’m sure he is a busy man, you will be able to take up your questions and concerns at a later date” 

“The pleasure was all mine” Nino responded, taking Alya’s hand and planting a soft kiss into it before turning to Marinette, “Good luck with casting Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng” 

“And may your endeavors bring you success as well, Monsieur” Marinette curtsied, receiving one last smile from her new manager 

After he left, Madame Bustier returned to her announcement, “The chorus stays as usual: Alya Césaire, Lila Rossi, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, and Juleka Couffaine! Max—you play the old hermit. Luka? The knight in shining armour. Mylene, you and Alix will be the step sisters. Finally, playing the role of the leading lady—Chloé Bourgeois! ” 

Suddenly the chatter of the crowd fell silent, while all eyes turned to Marinette. Oh no. Oh no oh no.  _ Oh no _ . She lost the part? How could she lose the part? Not after everything she went through! She had tried so hard for this; surely she would have got it! Surely there must have been some sort of mistake! The girl slumped down in defeat. Maybe she was just meant to be that: a chorus girl. A chorus girl with silly dreams about being a lead— in an opera of the House of Agreste

“I guess everyone knows their place then,  _ Dupain-Cheng _ ” 

If Marinette wasn’t so busy trying to hold back tears, she would have had a better retort 

“I don’t have to have a place to know this production deserves better  _ Chloé _ ” 

Everyone knew Chloé would get the part;  _ Marinette  _ knew Chloé would get the part— so why the hell did this hurt so much? 

“Girls, there is no need for hostility” Madame Bustier said quite aggitatedly, “You both will have to learn to work together— which is why I’m making Marinette the understudy.” 

Wait—the what? 

“The WHAT!? Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! My father will hear about this Mendeleiev! Bustier!” 

“I guess new management means Chloé’s dad needs to buy out new people” Alya quipped, before turning to her friend 

“I know it’s not exactly what you hoped for, but congratulations dear! Understudy is still a huge accomplishment!” Marinette weakly smiled and was soon ambushed by a hug from the troop. Once it was just her and Alya again, Marinette sighed. 

“Think of it— you still have a shot!” Alya encouraged, “Chloe doesn’t stand a chance with you right next to her! Your soul is kind, Marinette, and that alone is enough to outshine her” 

“Thank you, Alya” Marinette responded, “My parents wouldn’t want me to lose hope now, and knowing I have you in my corner gives me the courage I need to dethrone the Evil Queen!” The troop cheered as the girl bowed. Everyone was counting on her now to take Chloe down, to stop her fierce rule of the cast 

Everyone...especially...

“Rember to extend a thank you to your tutor, Mari.” Mylene softly said, “you two must have worked long hours to pull this off” she smiled

“Wh-wh— O-of course!” 

In all honesty the request caught her off guard. Thank her tutor? The voice that had guided her since she was a young girl was practically the reason Marinette made it this far. Without him, who knows if she could have even done a simple run? But thank him? She thought of him nearly every night, expressing gratitude to whatever lurked in the shadows, yet it was just that, a voice in the shadows. Marinette had never seen his face, never even a silhouette in the night

“I’ll be sure to thank him, Mylene” Marinette smiled back

“And it wouldn’t hurt if you could throw him my way,” the small girl joked, “maybe next year I’ll have a shot at lead and not...step sister one” she frowned 

…

By dusk, most of the opera house’s occupants had already gone home. Many were tired from painting and constructing the set, dancing in the chorus, or singing their hearts out, but those who were left often found themselves telling various stories. Sometimes they were about great vocal feats, or humorous tales of slip-ups, though more often than not, everyone ended up listening to ghost stories. 

One ghost in particular always stood out

“Like yellow parchment is his skin” Ivan would whisper, “a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew. You must be always on your guard, or he will catch you with his magical lasso!” 

“Ivan, you always tell the same old story,” Alya retorted, “but tell me, does anyone believe in your Opera Ghost anymore?”

“I haven’t been scared of him since I was a child,” Max added, “though I hear many of our managers are quite uneasy in the night. I often start to wonder, what if these stories are more true than we thought” 

“Please!” Alya chimed in, “Even Mylene isn’t afraid of the creaking in the ceiling! Our managers must be weary of other  _ real _ dangers! Tell me that isn’t so, right Mari? 

“Alya I-” 

“That’s enough!” Madame Mendeleiev interrupted before the girl could finish, “Those who speak of what they know find, too late, that prudent silence is wise. You all should be getting rest: there are many of you who need it. Telling tales of Chat Noir—the phantom of the opera—is bad luck this close to a production. You all need some sense and a good night of sleep!”

Begrudgingly the group split their separate ways. Madame Mendeleiev had the right idea, and sleep sounded very nice. Though, Marinette knew there was one last thing she had to do before calling it quits. Yet even the idea of talking to her teacher started to give her chills. Trying to distract her mind, she brought up a new topic with Alya. 

“So, Adrien Agreste is taking control of the opera house now, huh?” she mumbled, heading in the direction of the dormitories, “I wonder if he remembers me” 

…

“Chat? Are you there” 

“Mademoiselle Marinette, it is late. I should think it is time for you to head to sleep.” 

His voice was familiar. It had always been like that. It was this voice that had calmed her when her parents died, comforted her when Adrien—her love—left. She grew up alongside this voice. The voice that taught her everything she knew about singing. Maybe everyone was scared of Chat Noir, the Opera Ghost, but she wasn’t. Though it was true she could never dispel the rumors surrounding him (or more specifically, his face), she trusted him like no other. Because other than her parents, no other had been there for her the way he had. 

“I just wanted to thank you— I got understudy for the opera” The room was quiet, as if the voice was trying to think of what to say next. When he finally spoke, it was in a tone warmer than the iciness Marinette was by now accustomed to. 

“You did everything on your own Mademoiselle Marinette, I was merely a tool for your success.” 

“I would have never learned without you, Chat” Marinette protested, “I owe you more than just understudy, but—”

“Everything will work out in due time, Mademoiselle” the iciness was back, “for now, it is time to meet the fools who will be running my opera” 

The girl was shocked by the harshness of the comment: she wanted to protest. She wanted to say Adrien Agreste was no fool— he would do an excellent job running the theater. She wanted to say Adrien was just like her, just like  _ them _ . That he also lost his mother at a young age, and more recently, his father. Marinette wanted to tell her angel she was once  _ in love _ with Adrien Agreste, and above all else, wanted nothing more than a life with him.

Yet she didn’t say that. She didn’t say  _ any  _ of that. As far as Chat Noir knew, her heart belonged to music— and it always would. If he learned the truth...what would it do to him? The poor voice in the night, prisoner to its own solidarity. She was worried she would hurt  _ him _ . So instead, she asked question— a question that might have changed the course of her life 

“When will I see your face, Chat? When will I see you?” 

...

Rehearsals were a pain to sit through. 

They often were, since Marinette could never be  _ part _ of them the way she wanted to. Instead, she usually sat in to show her support— for her friends of course— and maybe come up with a design or two. However, his time had been especially tough: she had never been  _ this _ close to staring. The girl was only an understudy, the understudy of  _ Chloé  _ at that, which meant there was a slim chance she could actually premier as the leading lady, but, it was her job to be there, and that didn’t mean other things didn’t need to get done. So instead of sitting still and watching the ballerinas twirl on stage, Marinette opted to help Marc paint the sets. 

“I really appreciate the help, Marinette,” he sighed, paint splattered all over his face, “though shouldn’t you be up there with the others?”

“Right now only the main cast is rehearsing, Marc” the girl smiled, wiping sweat from her forehead. Madame Bustier insisted Marinette join the leads today in case anything were to go wrong with Chloe, but the blonde rarely faulted in her appearances.

_ At least Chloe is reliable,  _ Marinette thought, _ even if it’s for the wrong reasons _

As Marc moved on to another set piece, her mind started to wonder, and she began thinking of the conversation she had with Chat Noir last night

_ “When will I see your face, Chat? When will I see you?”  _

The question seemed innocent enough. She had known her mysterious tutor for years— ever since she arrived at the opera house really— but she still had yet to see his face; she still had yet to see  _ any _ of him really. She would be a liar to say the curiosity never burned deep inside her, but she had too much respect to ask her teacher to tear down the wall of anonymity between them— well between  _ one  _ of them. It always seemed unfair to Marinette that  _ her  _ identity was known— and even more so since she could not say the same of her angel. He really was that to her, an angel. He was the guardian her father sent her when he passed; the guide her mother promised when they first moved to the Opera house. Was it really too much to ask of him? Had she crossed an unforgivable line? 

The voice in the shadows always knew what to say. This time was no exception 

“The night you sing in Mademoiselle Bourgeois place, you shall know me” he responded coolly. The night she sings in Chloe’s place? But Marinette was just an understudy! In all the years the Agreste’s Opera House had been running, Chloe never missed a performance, and now that Marinette was up for the part, she doubted the blonde would let this time be the first.

“There has to be some other way! I am only the understudy; Chloe would never miss a show!” she began, desperation fueling her voice

“Only when you sing on stage shall you know who I am, Mademoiselle Marinette. There are no other ways” 

“But—” 

“You  _ will _ sing once more—there are no buts” 

She shrank down, tilting her head towards the floor. Chat was always so stern when he had made up his mind. It was something that made his teachings effective yet tiresome. 

“Please calm down, Marinette,” he continued, “I will personally see to it you have a chance; it is my word” 

“Marinette? Marinette!” Suddenly she was backstage again, “can you please hand me that paint?” Marc asked, pointing at a pallet right by her feet. 

While passing it to him, Marc spoke “Must have been some daydream, huh” he teased taking it from her hands, “I’ve been calling you for five minutes!” 

“Sorry” she blushed. She could really get lost in her own thoughts sometimes, especially when it came to Chat Noir. Her musings would have to take a backseat, however, as Madame Mendeleiev soon called for the chorus on stage. Quickly untying her apron, Marinette headed to the greenroom, changing into her forest spirit costume.

“Took you long enough” Alya was already there, putting on the finishing touches to her make-up. “What do you think?” 

“I think it looks great, but why would it matter, A?” Marinette asked coyly, “You know it only sweats right off anyway” When she had first started dancing in the troop, her mother had warned Marinette of the needlessness of make-up. Unless it was caked on, it would never last an entire performance, and if you didn’t have buckets of it in place, it was barely noticeable. The only ones who used make-up in the troop were Chloe, and the rest of the main cast. 

“I’m not surprised you haven’t heard: you always were quite ditzy, Dupain-Cheng” Chloe coughed, “our new managers are coming again today, and I suggest you follow in Cersaire’s footsteps if you want to look even remotely presentable”

New managers? She must have meant Nino and Adrien. He still needed to make his debut after all, considering how it was only Nino who had introduced himself

“I hate to say it, but the puppet is right” Alya sighed

“So I suppose all of this is for Nino?” Marinette responded, ignoring the previous comment. Her friend reddened

“I just want to show them the troop has skill  _ and  _ looks good!” She huffed, walking away from the vanity, “and don’t say that as if you wouldn’t want to make your impression on Adrien” 

“That’s Vicomte Agreste to you, little toad! Learn to keep his name off of your tongue if you know what is good for you, foolish girls! Adrikins is mine” Chloe cried 

If Marinette was even thinking about make-up, the thought quickly vanished from her mind, “Toad, Mademoiselle? We will see who the toad is when it comes time to sing!” With that, she stormed out the room

“Lets go, Alya. We’re about to teach that girl a lesson” 

...

Showing up on the second day wasn’t what most would exactly call ideal, but at least this time Adrien would show up: he had promised Nino that much. Besides, both the Madames promised a dress rehearsal for the gods, and since the premier of the show was only a few weeks away, an early view of what he was getting himself into wouldn’t hurt. If that weren’t enough, Chloe was also counting on his arrival, which was a demand he had to uphold considering how her father was the one paying for the whole production 

“I’ll have you know I expect you to  _ actually  _ get out of the carriage this time, Vicomte Agreste” his friend once again jabbed

“You’re really not letting this go, are you Lahiffe?” Adrien sighed, not really looking forward to continuing the conversation, “I’ve told you a dozen times to relax: if not now, I’d have to show my face eventually”

“Oh, and what a dastardly face you have indeed. Truly horrific! Anyone who sees you is surely bound to faint in terror!” He may not have had any experience, but Adrien thought Nino was perfectly cut for acting 

“Why don’t you shut up and tell me about the girl you are really here for instead?” Adrien smiled

“Which of the countless ones that will be left after you’ve scared them off?” 

The blonde scoffed, “Nino” 

“You know I only jest, friend! Alya is,” as he spoke, Nino had a loving look in his eye, “Alya is so much more than words can describe. She is quick, and spirited, and only wants the best for the ones she loves. I’ve never seen someone more beautiful, more perfect, and I’ve— ” 

“Only known her for a day, if that” Adrien finished, “How can you say such things about a girl you’ve known for all of an hour?” 

“My friend, Adrien, when you find the girl you’re meant to be with you don’t need to wait a lifetime to know she is the one. Her song will flood your memories, and her face will be the moonlight. I pity the man who has not felt love in this fashion, so please, for the love of god, don’t let me pity you.” Maybe that was why he had stayed friends with Nino despite it all. “I know you have been itching to see Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng since they day I first mentioned her to you, and I want you to promise me, if you even feel slightly the way I do for Alya, you will at the very least bring her a flower after her show” 

“Nothing else would have crossed my mind” Adrien said, smiling more to himself than to Nino. Moments like these really made Nino more like the brother Adrien wished he had had in...someone else. Though many believed him too young to remember, Adrien recalled a time where he was not the  _ only _ Agreste son in the family. He was not called the “young Agreste” for nothing anyhow. Thinking about Felix reminded him of their legacy, how Adrien was really the only Agreste left alive. If he did not have at least a son...

“I’m sure you’ll have something similar to say about Marinette, anyhow” It wasn’t the distraction he would have preferred, but it was the distraction Adrien needed. At least now he could stop thinking about his dead family, but now he was focused on  _ other things _ . 

“Nino!” 

…

“Monsieur Lahiffe! Vicomte Agreste! What a pleasure it is to see you once more!” Madame Bustier warmly greeted, “I was afraid after the other days unfortunate occurrence you would not show!” 

“Madame Bustier, it is nice to finally see you after such a long absence” the blonde boy greeted, “I must once again apologize for my sudden disappearance, but I am fully prepared to view what your troop has in store” 

“Adrien, my boy, there is no need to apologize! You are in the house that understands nerves better than most, and Monsieur Lahiffe, as always it is a delight to be in your presence” the woman bowed slightly before becoming quite fidgety, “Though if you are to excuse me, I believe we must talk about a few...business matters before our performance can begin” 

Impatient to find his sweetheart, Nino butted in, “Why don’t we take a tour of the building while we talk? I’m sure Vicomte Agreste would like to be refreshed of his father’s old building”

“That sounds like a lovely idea, Monsieur Lahiffe” Adrien added, equally as impatient to find Marinette

“Of course! What a fine plan that is. I must warn you, however, due to some...construction...several of the rooms will be unreachable”

“Construction Madame? I was not told you would be remodeling my father’s walls” Adrien asked quite concernedly. Not only was this building a manifestation of Gabriel Agreste’s dream, but Madame Bustier was acting quite strange. She was agitated, clearly, and he was tempted to call the meeting off. That was until he saw a line of chorus girls giggling around a very familiar figure. Before he could discover the identity of the girl in the crowd, Adrien was quickly pulled away

“Do not fret, young Agreste! It is only a refurbishment of many of the old pipes. Aesthetically nothing should change. The house will remain exactly how your father left it” 

“So the tour shall continue?” Nino practically begged

“Anything for our new managers” Madame Bustier responded, “but I must insist in that business talk” 

…

There he was— the Adrien Agreste. 

It was Adrien, walking with Madame Bustier, in her line of sight. It was Adrien Agreste standing right in front of her, watching the ballerinas twirl and hearing Chloe sing. Maybe she should have listened to Alya and put the make-up on after all. Though, the chances of him remembering her were small: Adrien was a Vicomte. He was also quite famous  _ and  _ wealthy. He must have met countless people in his time away from the opera house, and no mere girl, like Marinette was, could have stuck in his mind. Still, if she had nothing else, Marinette had a strong sense of hope, and even if there was a fraction of a chance her childhood sweetheart could remember her, Marinette would take it.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the opera,” Madame Mendeleiev called, “it is my honor to present to you Monsieur Lahiffe and Vicomte Agreste. As of today, they are your new managers” A small round of applause burst from the room, after which Adrien took a chance to speak

“I’m sure my partner has already given you the message,” he spoke with an eloquence Marinette had only ever heard in one other voice before: a voice hidden in the night, “but I assure you we are more than capable in running this house. And to the few of you that believe in its alleged haunting,” Madame Bustier winced, “have no fear. There are no such things as ghosts!” 

Some of the crowd cheered while others turned a pale white, wincing in the same fashion as Madame Bustier. Was that what she had been talking to the new management about? It was impossible! Unless—unless there were more people who knew of Chat’s existence. People other than her

Unphased by the comment, Madame Mendeleiev carried on, “Now, we promised these two gentlemen a run through of our show, and as it is a form of assessment, I hope you should all take it quite seriously. Without further interruption, the Agreste Opera House is proud to present its rendition of Over the Wall!” 

…

“You have guts, Bustier, I’ll give you that” Nino practically shouted, “A ghost? Do you really find us to be so foolish?” Out of all the things that have ever been said to his face, this had to be the most absurd. Paying a ghost? A ghost that no one has ever even claimed to have seen at that? The notion was quite laughable

“I have to say Bustier, I am quite disappointed in you” Adrien agreed, shaking his head

“Please, Vicomte! You must understand—your father would pay him up to 400 francs a week!” Madame Bustier pleaded, “I am truly frightened of what might happen if you do not! Chat Noir is already quite weary of how you might run his opera house” 

“400 francs!” 

“ _ His _ opera house!”

“Madame, that is enough with the thoughtlessness” Adrein finally stated, “a woman of your age must know there are no such things as ghosts

“What would a ghost even require money for?” Nino questioned

Adrien frowned, “I have half the mind to dismiss you right now” 

“Go ahead,” Bustier called, “but you will not find another who will agree with you so easily” 

“If you speak of this again,” Adrien whispered in a very serious tone, “I fear for what would happen to your work” 

“Funny,” she retorted, “for someone so skeptical you sound much like him” 

…

Marinette glided across the stage in the same way she had most her life. A saute here, a plie there. It had become a second language to her. Of course, being in the presence of such...  _ familiar _ company did have its fair share of affects, but nothing the girl wasn’t able to handle. 

“The chorus is quite lovely, isn’t it?” Madame Mendeleiv whispered to the new managers, “they have worked very hard this year to come so far” 

“And her? In the far left?” Nino asked, trying to draw attention to the familiar silhouette 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Monsieur Lahiffe. I believe you have already met her once before?” 

“Ahh yes! The chorus girl trying out for the lead! I must say, she moves quite flawlessly on the stage” Nino beamed. It was a ploy to get Adrien to notice her, but Marinette really did look different with than of the girls. 

“Her parents brought her to live here when she was still a girl,” Madame Mendeleiev explained, “and she was orphaned at a very young age. Madame Bustier and I took her in and taught her to dance, but the singing, she picked up all on her own.” 

“She is really almost unrecognizable” Adrien mentioned, not expecting to get a reply

“So you knew her then, Vicomte?” Mendeleiev questioned

“Long ago,” he began, “back when my father brought me here quite regularly”  _ Long ago, it seems so long ago, how young and innocent we were… she may not remember me, I remember her  _

Madame Mendeleiev smiled “Then this must be a long awaited reunion for you” 

“Trust me,” Nino interjected, “it  _ is _ ” 

“ **AHHHHHHHHHHHH** ” 

Suddenly a scream interrupted any and all conversations, and a loud crash was heard around the room. Everyone stood paralyzed with fear. Well, everyone except one girl

“Chloe! Somebody please! Help her!” Marinette shouted, and just as quickly everyone began to move. When the crowd had somewhat cleared and the dust had finally settled, a large beam was smack in the middle of the stage. It appeared to be a backdrop Marc had just put up, as some of the paint was found on Chloe. 

“Chloe are you okay?” Alya asked, unsure if what just happened was an accident or not. However, it seemed as if Chloe had already made up her mind

“Get off of me Cesaire! Dupain-Cheng!” the blonde screamed, “You did this!” She shot a look at both Marinette and Marc, pointing at them with her long fingers, “I saw you and Van Gough over there painting these earlier today! This is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” 

“Chloe please” Madame Bustier cooed, trying to calm the injured girl down, “it was an accident! You must understand, these things do happen” 

“ _ These things do happen _ ?” Chloe spat back, “is that your excuse Bustier? My father will have your head for this! And if that weren’t enough, until you  _ stop  _ these  _ things  _ from happening,  _ this thing  _ will not happen!” As she walked away, Chloe was followed by multiple cast members, along with Madame Mendeleiev to try and talk her out of walking out

Adrien looked quite flushed, “Without Chloe,” he asked, “Who will play the lead?” 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng is our understudy” Alya quickly shouted, dragging her friend to the spot where Chloe once stood, “She can do it!” 

Nino smiled “She is very talented Adrien; I’ve heard her sing before” 

_ I don’t doubt that _ the Vicomte thought,  _ but will she still want to? _

“I assure you, it is perfectly safe!” Madame Bustier tried to convince the managers, “what happened today...it was an accident!” 

“You see? The girl will be safe! Adrien, there is no need for such worry”

“I can’t say I’m completely convinced” Adrien scanned the room, “but if she is our only hope, I suppose it would be selfish of me to keep her back” 

“Then it is settled! From now on, Marinette shall take over as lead!” Madame Bustier cheered, beaming at Marinette

This was her dream. Marinette had waited for this day for so long, and yet, it somehow felt wrong to her. She didn’t earn the spot: she merely was the backup in case anything went wrong, and up until today, nothing ever went wrong. Maybe everyone was happy Marinette had finally dethroned the queen, but Marinette knew it shouldn’t have been this way. She wanted to work for it—prove to everyone she was capable of running circles around Chloe all on her own. Fate didn’t need to intervene and give her the spot, because Marinette would get it on her own merit. Was it fate though? It sure as hell didn’t feel like it. And unless fate had a figure hidden in shadow, it didn’t look like it either.

“Ivan? Ivan was that you?” Marinette called, ignoring the cheers and congratulations from the cast

“Marinette! I swear—I don’t know what happened! It was as if someone came up here and took control of the rope! Please! It wasn’t my fault” The boy sounded as if he was going to break down. 

“Dear, what’s wrong?” Alya mused realizing Marinette was not relishing in her accomplishment 

“I think Chloe was right, A” Marinette answered, a horrified look on her face, “I think it  _ was  _ my fault” 

...

“How could you even  _ suggest  _ such a thing, Marinette!” Alya whispered, “What happened to Chloe was an accident! Just an accident!” 

Marinette’s head couldn’t stop spinning. How could it have been an accident? Chat’s vague claims, his unspoken warnings, this had to have been what they were leading to...right? But how could she tell any of this to Alya? Marinette’s tutor was supposed to be kept a secret. On many occasions the singers in the house had approached her,  _ asked  _ for her teacher, and every time she told them whatever lie she could think of, all in order to protect his identity. 

“Alya” the girl trembled: fear like this had not consumed her in so long, and to think it was caused by her teacher...how could it be?

“I’m frightened, Alya. I know I’m next—I know it was me!” Maybe she hadn’t done it directly, however Marinette still knew more than anyone else could have. Her silence was what made her at fault—she _knew_ , but never warned _anyone_. She knew Chat would do whatever he had to in order to get her to sing. She knew Chat hated Chloe, but she never thought he would go this far. He had always seemed so caring. So kind, and caring, and human. This couldn’t be him—it couldn’t, but who else? Who else was responsible? He never seemed like the type to do something so... _malicious_ , yet here they were, and this whole arrangement bore his stamp. The mysteriousness, the darkness, the destruction—it all seemed to point to him

“Marinette,” Alya pleaded, “please dear, stop crying. Nothing will happen to you”

“Alya—Alya please don’t make me sing” Tears rolled down her cheeks, forming small pools on the floor. Singing on stage had been Marinette’s dream for so long, just not like this.  _ Never _ like this. All the girl wanted to do was prove she could sing, no tricks, or looks, or money required. Chat was only supposed to train her voice—not do whatever  _ this  _ was

She wouldn’t sing

And they couldn’t make her

How could they after all? It was much too dangerous, the conditions were too threatening—no sane person would even dream of it

“Mademoiselle?” Nino Lahiffe’s voice cut through her thoughts, “you will still sing, won’t you?” 

Before she could answer, Alya turned around, “Of course she will! Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not let her troop down, and she will not start today!” 

“Mari,” she continued, now looking at Marinette, “no one but  _ you _ can do this. I’ve seen you practice, heard you sing, and I know somewhere in your heart you realise leaving the production is out of the question.” 

The former chorus girl looked around the auditorium. All her peers stood there, boring holes into her soul, probing her for her next move. If she quit the production now, it meant the end of everything. The hard work they put in—it would mean nothing: the show was sure to be canceled. Suddenly her eyes were pulled to a familiar green gaze

Adrien

Adrien was counting on  _ her  _ now

Once Chloe walked out, everything that was anticipated of her now fell on Marinette. This show, the show that was supposed to bring the Agreste Opera House back from the brink, was all riding on Marinette’s shoulders. Adrien needed her to continue if his father’s legacy was to be secure. 

_ If love can transcend fear, let it be shown now _

“Of course Monsieur—it would be my honor to take Chloe’s position” Marinette responded, wiping the tears from her face, “I will perform with all I have to give” 

…

From the moment he first heard her sing, Felix knew he was in love

Her voice made the melodies in his head so clear—so pure and refreshing...and  _ beautiful _ . Marinette’s music—Marinette—was beautiful, and impossible to ignore, but why would he even want to try? She was the first person to stay with him in  _ so _ long; the first person who had cared about him since…

Yet somehow it was a lie: how would she feel if she saw him for what he really was? How would she feel if she saw his face? 

This ring, this cursed ring—the one destined to ruin his life

The one that could only be removed with  _ true love's kiss  _

It had turned him into a monster. Maybe he didn’t look like the horrors from the stories he had occasionally heard of himself, but Felix still found himself wretched 

Cursed 

**_Unlovable_ **

But Marinette—Marinette had a melody so pure and unclouded, maybe she could be the one...to free him 

So he started teaching her without question—without hesitance. He taught her to unlock everything she thought her parents dreamt for her, everything he could to make her happy, and there was only ever one condition, and only one that mattered 

“To you I am a specter, Marinette; and as we do not have faces, you will never see mine” 

If it were anyone else, it could have been a deal breaker. They would have walked out of his life and never look back—and he wouldn’t blame them. But Marinette, lovable, soft,  _ beautiful _ , Marinette stood with him, by his side, never faulting in her loyalty. 

He probably loved her before he ever heard her sing in all honesty, and Felix would do anything for the girl, hoping one day she could love him back as well

Yet there was only ever one time he had done what she accused of him today, with a ghost from his past

Something he would forever regret 

“Marinette” he pleaded, his voice dripping with an overwhelming amount of love, “you must trust me—I would never harm her, or  _ you _ , or  _ anyone _ ” 

Never again

...

Hours turned to days, days to weeks, and before anyone knew it, opening night had come. Tonight meant everything to the Agreste Opera House: a chance at new recognition, investors, and, if things went  _ really _ well, a new spot for Marinette as leading lady

Of course, that’s if all went as planned

“Dearest, you look like a meltdown waiting to happen!” Alya teased, lacing up her pointe shoes, “You really mustn’t be that nervous!” 

“Alya! Adrien  _ Agreste _ is out there! In the crowd! As in really out there!” the girl whined, applying the dreaded makeup, “On top of that, I’m going to close out the whole show—in front of all those people!” 

“Well I’m glad  _ some _ of your nerves are stagefright, and not all just for some  _ boy _ in the audience” Alya laughed

Marinette was just glad her friend had believed her. It never felt good lying to Alya, but how could she begin to explain something else had been eating away at her?

Marinette hadn’t spoken to Chat since the incident— which was much more time than she had ever intended— and now that Madame Bustier was teaching the girl, there was seemingly no reason for them to communicate at all. Still, she felt guilty—there was no denying that. She felt guilty for her silent accusation; her inadequacy in hearing her tutor—her  _ angel _ —out. Surely he would still be there, in the audience,  _ somehow _ , to hear her sing

Right? 

“Alya,” Madame Mendeleiev called, “you come out in two minutes!” 

Without missing a beat she walked to Marinette, “And Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng? There are ten minutes left before your debut!” There was a tone of praise in Mendeleiev’s voice, which frankly did make Marinette feel better, but as usual, her friend needed to have the last word

“When Adrien stops by your dressing room later,” she cooed, “tell his friend to find me” 

Marinette blushed, hoping Madame Mendeleiev couldn’t see behind her make-up. 

“May Lady Luck be on your side” she mumbled, adjusting the pins in her hair

Truthfully, Marinette had no idea where Madame Bustier got the saying from. Around the opera house it was said Lady Luck was the only one capable of defeating Chat Noir, though Marinette had always chalked it up to the troop’s ever growing superstition.

But now it was a possibility 

Marinette remembered on the day of Chloe’s accident Madame Bustier had a quarrel with the new managers over the ghost. Did this mean he was known to her? Had he revealed himself to her? Or was she like so many others who bought into the superstition? She and Madame Mendeleiev were the oldest two teachers at the house, and aside from Monsieur Damocles, they would be the only ones to remember a life before his reign of terror. What could it all mean? 

“You’re probably overthinking it, Mademoiselle” a smooth voice said

“Wh-what?” Marinette stammered 

“The crowd—you’re probably overthinking it” 

It was Luka 

“I can understand why” he continued, “with it being your first lead performance and all, but I have no doubt in my mind you will sing with the grace you always seem to have” 

Luka picked up her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the center of it

“Thank you Luka” she bowed. He had been relatively new to the house, but seeing as Luka was one of only a few male leads, he quickly climbed the ranks to become a star—someone important to the troop. Though at the moment, Marinette was relieved he couldn’t read minds

“Perform well, and may Lady Luck be at your side” 

There was that calling again. It didn’t make her feel uneasy or anything, yet it always made Marinette wonder what “defeating Chat Noir” exactly meant. He wasn’t a bad person, quite the contrary actually, but this growing fear of him—and everything that happened to Chloe…

“Thank you Monsieur Couffaine” the quiet girl answered, “it means a lot coming from you” 

The tall boy offered a warm smile before heading backstage to rejoin his sister. 

That only meant one thing 

“Mademoiselle Marinette! You are up in five minutes!”

…

Adrien knew this opera: Over the Wall

He also knew the ending number, and  _ when  _ that ending number would be 

“Adrien, friend, I swear you are going to be the death of me one day!” Nino scolded in his most silent voice, “Stop bouncing around like a child! You are making us both look like fools!”

“You’re just upset they called you out when Alya was performing” Adrien chuckled. 

However, Nino did have a point: this was not the way a Vicomte—Vicomte  _ Agreste _ at that—should be handling himself. Everyone who had once held his family name with high esteem was at the theater tonight, yet Adrien had only one thought in his mind

Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Sure he had caught glimpses of her weeks ago when she took over as lead, and there was one moment before where he was  _ sure _ they made eye contact, but that wasn’t enough. That couldn’t be enough for all the years he had missed with her

Because he  _ missed _ her

There was no guarantee she would even recall who he was, but the chance at seeing his dear old friend, his..rather beautiful...dear friend would be enough. All the memories they had together, all the memories they could have had, not for one second had he stopped thinking about them—thinking about  _ her _

But that was something all friends did, as it goes without saying

“I hope you brought a rose” Nino finally whispered when he had cooled down 

The blonde looked down at the single red rose in his lap. His mother always said they were classier that way—more

_ Romantic _

That didn’t mean anything though, could it? Marinette was Marinette—a friend. One of his first friends other than Chloe. One of his beautiful friends that sent butterflies to his stomach. He just wanted to see her— _ be with her _ —even for just one night after the performance, as all friends naturally did 

“I know that look on your face,” Nino spoke up again, rather annoyed this time, and turned to Adrien, “you can’t possibly still believe this girl is only a friend to you—if she even remembers who you are!” 

Adrien looked at the rose and frowned

“Adrien,  _ I  _ am your friend.  _ Chloe _ is your friend—this Marinette girl, she is not just a friend! I don’t know how you can’t see that at this rate!” 

Though Adrien wanted to believe it, Nino was not crazy. Clearly something was different about his feelings toward Marinette now, but it could all change 

It would all change when she came on stage to sing

He was sure of it 

...

Marinette took her final steps towards the stage, waiting to show her teacher all she had learned—all she was thankful for. The crowd from down where she was looked rather big, but Marinette had listened to Luka when he warned her of overthinking—she had listened to Chat when he told her to let the music think for her. Now all that was left was to sing.

The song had been practiced hundreds of times by now. During breakfast, rehearsal, in her sleep; there was no way Marinette could miss a pitch. She only had to sing as well—there was no dance or strut or leap, only her voice. She would be standing in the center of the stage, wearing a white gown, hair decorated by crystal flowers, singing for all to hear

It was something straight out of her dreams

Countless years of work, and training, and heartbreak prepared her for this very moment—a moment she could only pray her parents were there for—that  _ he _ was there for.

And then, Adrien Agreste

He was sitting up in one of the boxes, though which one Marinette couldn’t tell. He wore a sharp suit, one fitting for a Vicomte, and appeared to be fiddling with something in his lap. The girl blushed: even after all this time, she still had butterflies when looking at him. 

Her first love

Although she wouldn’t have minded it, Marinette knew she couldn’t stare at the blonde. It was rude. It was bad etiquette. It was something her teacher  _ never  _ would have approved of. Besides, she didn’t want to give Alya more reasons to pick on her during break, or give Chloe an extra reason to come after her. If she was lucky, Adrien would stop by and say something before he left—since she was the lead and all

“Ladies and gentlemen, please if you would all take your seats” Monsieur Damocles began to hush the crowd, “We would like to thank you all for coming tonight and extend our deepest gratitude towards our new managers: Vicomte Adrien Agreste and Monsieur Nino Lahiffe!” 

A small round of applause greeted the two men as Adrien stood up to bow

“Before our final song of the night begins, I would like to dedicate this production to the late Gabirel Agreste, who has left his life’s work in his son’s capable hands” 

With that, Monsieur Damocles left the stage, leaving the conductor to begin his music. As the curtains parted, Marinette felt a warmth wrap around her, pushing her to forget whatever troubles she had and sing with the passion boiling inside. With one final glance at Adrien, she began singing the melody dancing in her head


	2. Angel of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya has an interesting thought about the "Opera Ghost" and only Nino Lahiffe can seem to help her. Meanwhile, Marinette has a sneaking suspicion someone else is lurking in the shadows, and Adrien is learning to cope with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So in this chapter we are introduced to a new B plot with Nino and Alya! This B plot goes more into the murder mystery aspect in the original Phantom (like...the book) and will be present throughout the rest of the fic!! As always, I hope y'all enjoy

Alya Cesaire dreamt of bigger things

She dreamt of the days before her arrival at the Agreste Opera House, before she began dancing, and on the days where she felt least content, she dreamt of leaving everything behind—starting over. It was never in her plan to fall in love, or have friends, or stay in the troop forever, but it was also never in her plan to leave Marinette Dupain-Cheng behind

Or try and find the elusive opera ghost 

“Alya—he isn’t real! How could one of Paris’s most famous opera houses be haunted?” the young girl would swear, “Please, would you stop snooping? You’re going to get us into trouble!”

When she first came to the Agreste Opera House, Alya had been on a mission to find Chat Noir—the opera ghost. He had been a rumor for years, almost longer than any human could possibly live, but if anything this fact excited the self proclaimed detective more

“Marinette! That’s exactly why I’m looking for him!” Alya would begin to reason, “He has to be a  _ real person _ , right? Maybe ‘Chat Noir’ is just a title—kinda like Adrien’s mom and dad!” 

“Well if he’s real,” Marinette responded, “maybe he would want to be left alone?” 

“If we are the first to find him, we can help him hide, Mari! You know, give excuses for the creaking and stuff!” 

Back when they were seven, life had been so much easier, in Alya’s eyes. They could waste entire days looking for a fake ghost, a rumor, and still giggle over Marinette’s first love—Adrien Agreste. The Madames of the opera house would focus on teaching the older performers, while Marinette’s parents—and by default, Alya’s—would gather together and work behind the scenes. 

But they weren’t seven anymore

Marinette’s parents died long ago; Alya’s left when they got too old to be useful. Hearts were broken, dreams were never realised, and year after year both girls stayed at the Agreste Opera House. If it weren’t for her dear friend, the redhead would have left, but she never could. Marinette had gone through too much pain—she had no one but Alya, and she knew Marinette’s soul was too kind, too precious, to simply leave behind—so she wouldn’t dream of it.

Alya was fine with what life had given her: her parents were alive, old sure, but alive, she had a stable life at the Agreste Opera House, and was surrounded by faces she grew to care for. The girl didn’t need to strive for more—Alya didn’t have anything to prove to anyone but herself, unlike Marinette 

It hurt seeing the poor girl rejected, stomped on, and beat down before getting up and doing it over again. Everytime things seemed to change for the better, Marinette was turned away, forced to take and retake wearisome steps, all just to stagger towards the finish line. Time crawled by for both girls, and soon room for jokes, and games, and mysteries dwindled into nothing—Alya’s dreams of bigger things dwindled into nothing. 

Of course she didn’t believe in the opera ghost: she was too old, too mature, too responsible now. She had seen real horror on Marinette’s face, being denied one too many times. She had seen real hideousness in Chloe, in the way the blonde treated those around her. She had seen real deception in Lila, manipulating whoever crossed her path. Soon, Alya learned the truth behind Chat Noir— _ her  _ truth: there are no such things as ghosts, there can’t be, but they all are the phantom of the opera.

What she hadn’t counted on was Marinette’s unfaltered credence in the specter

It was rather odd, at first, as Marinette was the one repeatedly insisting the opera ghost did not exist. She unfailingly told Alya to knock off all her searches, or her snooping, or whatever trail she had that could lead them to Chat. 

“Mari, quit being such a scaredy-cat!” a young Alya would whine, “We’re never going to find him at this rate!” Being so inexperienced and naive, of course Alya chalked up her friend’s resistance to nerves. Naturally, it made the most sense. However, as the two grew older, she began to learn Marinette had been right all along. Then why had the former chorus girl looked so terrified at Chloe’s accident? And why did she go as far to say it was  _ her _ fault? Madame Bustier was right—things like this happened often in the performing arts. No one had denied it was dangerous, but a loose rope or unbalanced beams could send something crashing down at any moment. It was just  _ luck _ that this had happened to Chloe when Marinette was acting as her understudy…

...right?

Either way, it isn’t like a ghost could bring down such a heavy object...unless…

Unless it wasn’t a ghost at all

Unless she had been right all those years ago, and Chat Noir wasn’t a specter 

Because specters didn’t exist

But people did. And  _ bad _ people did 

If Chat Noir  _ was _ real, did that mean he was a bad person? Was he dangerous? Were all of them in danger because of him? Nothing major happened on the days leading up to the performance, but Marinette still was paranoid— _ everyone _ seemed paranoid—more on edge than usual. The managers…

_ Nino _

They didn’t seem to care. 

No

They didn’t seem to  _ believe _

It was clear Nino and Adrien did not believe in Chat Noir, and although it was the dissenting opinion, neither did Alya. It was foolish to think a  _ ghost _ could be responsible for everything wrong with the Agreste Opera House: everything that was wrong with it was a direct consequence of a senile Gabriel Agreste’s final orders, but a person, a  _ person _ could be pulling the strings 

“You’ve got to snap out of it Cesaire” the girl cursed herself, “you’re blowing this way out of proportion”

The theory was too ludicrous to be right. All these instances were accidents, coincidences! There was no grand conspiracy brewing in the Agreste Opera House’s floorboards. Even if there was, Alya had no time to think about it! There was a show going on for god’s sake! She would be on any minute! And Marinette looked like hell! 

Marinette looked like hell? 

“Dearest, you look like a meltdown waiting to happen! You really mustn’t be that nervous!” 

She had to snap out of it for her friend. The redhead knew Marinette would be fine, but asinine thoughts could not keep her head filled when Alya knew she was being counted on.

“Alya! Adrien  _ Agreste _ is out there! In the crowd! As in really out there! On top of that, I’m going to close out the whole show—in front of all those people!” 

“Well I’m glad  _ some _ of your nerves are stagefright, and not all just for some  _ boy _ in the audience” Alya laughed

She had to appear normal, portray herself as she had always been, if not to help Marinette find her confidence, then to keep her suspicions under wraps. The last thing she needed was for her thoughts to get her into  _ real  _ trouble, and the last thing Marinette needed was to worry about her friend right before she was about to debut as a star. But she needed to talk to  _ someone _ . She needed to find information, and as of late, there was only one person she could think of perfect for the job

“When Adrien stops by your dressing room later,” she cooed, “tell his friend to find me”

...

Marinette had a strange tradition after every one of her performances. In reality, it wasn’t that strange to her, nor to anyone else, but the manner in which the former chorus girl went around lighting a candle for her parents couldn’t be described as anything other than odd. There was no reason for her to sneak to the back, or go down the stairs of a restricted corridor, yet doing so gave Marinette the ability to feel free —unwatched. 

Lately it was a feeling she wished she could have had more of, especially considering the girl knew a certain someone who had a habit of slinking around where they weren’t supposed to be. Still, the room felt different somehow, almost as if instead of Chat Noir’s caring, curious gaze, something— _ someone _ —harsher, more evil, had been peering into her private moment.

This stare, this piercing ogle had been the one disturbing Marinette’s every thought, every dream, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what it meant. Surely it couldn’t have been Chat Noir: his methods may have been unorthodox, but he never made Marinette feel frightened—not the way she was now. 

And speaking of the mangy cat, when did he think he was going to show up? The night was almost over. The girl had only to light a candle and go back to her dressing room, and after that, she was determinedly bound to bed. Not only would Madame Bustier and Mendeleiev not allow her to stay up much later, Marinette was desperately in need of sleep: she had been so anxious the nights leading up to the performance the poor girl barely got any, if she managed to shut her eyes at all. 

Suddenly a voice cut through her thoughts

“Bravi, Bravi, Bravissimi”

“Chat? Is tha —” 

Before she could finish her sentence, the mysterious voice was replaced by someone Marinette knew all too well

“Marinette? Marinette?”

It was Alya. How the redhead found her, Marinette had only guesses, but there was no use denying Alya Cesaire had a knack for finding people. This, along with her peculiar whisper-scold was one of her many talents. Afterall, there was a reason many in the house called her “Detective Cesaire” 

“Where in the world have you been hiding? Really —you were perfect! I only wish I knew your secret, who is your strange tutor?” 

Marinette smiled at the candles she had just finished lighting, looking at the pictures of her parents gently placed on the front. 

“My parents once spoke of an Angel” she began, “I used to dream he’d appear. Now, when I sing I can sense him, and I know he’s here” 

Maybe Alya would call her crazy, or laugh in her face, but that was what Chat Noir was to Marinette—an Angel of music: he had met her almost immediately after her parents had passed. Alya, who should have had a more active response, only smiled at her friend before allowing her to continue

“Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he, the unseen genius” 

The girl blushed at the last line, hoping that it didn’t come off as lamentable as it sounded. Without a doubt it was true, but she'd rather not have to explain herself on the off chance Chat was listening. 

“Marinette, you must have been dreaming,” Alya giggled, thankfully ignoring that last line, “stories like this can’t be true. Marinette, you’re speaking in riddles, and it’s not like you!” 

Both girls began to giggle at the tale, before Marinette started speaking again, this time exaggerating her voice

“Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory” she sang, bringing her hands together and tilting her head up

“Who is this angel?” Alya retorted, still laughing at her friends nonsensical story 

Marinette gladly answered, “My angel of music!” she smiled, “Please, hide no longer, secret and strange angel”    


Though she was still laughing, that last bit was true. Marinette desperately wanted to see Chat, and if everything went right, then her chance would be tonight. Quickly, a chill ran down her back, causing the girl to frown 

“Did you feel that?” she asked Alya, who by now had taken her hands

“Your hands are cold” was her reply, now looking concerned, “Your face, Marinette! It’s white!” 

Marinette dipped her head down and tried to suppress a shudder, “It frightens me, Alya” she sighed

“Don’t be frightened” 

Soon both girls found themselves in a hug, though Marinette couldn’t help but keep a cautious eye around the rundown room. There was only one thing she knew for sure: something was watching her, and it scared her beyond recognition. They stayed like that for a while before Alya pulled away, bringing Marinette’s face up. 

“Dear,” she twinkled, starting to get up, “we should get out of here” 

The girl extended her arm out to Marinette, helping her get up from the floor. The once pristine white dress now showed signs of stains, which most likely came from the floor. Marinette winced looking down, though Alya assured her it wouldn’t be an issue for wardrobe

“You helped design it, didn’t you?” Alya asked, trying to distract her friend from her previous fright

The girl nodded her head quickly while walking beside Alya

“Then I’m sure they’ll be kind to you Marinette” she beamed, “It is a very beautiful dress, afterall” 

The gown itself was one of Marinette’s favorite pieces, consisting mostly of tulle, though there was plenty of cotton used so as to not spike the production cost. There were little cream colored flowers embroidered all along the edge of the dress, coming up to the bodice, which happened to match the flower pins delicately placed in her hair.

Once she had calmed down enough, Marinette found herself joking around with Alya once more, pointing out funny faces from the crowd

“It’s completely different than what I expected, A” Marinette said, “closing the show, being the starring name...I only wish I had gotten to do it sooner” 

“There wasn’t an eye in that audience that wasn’t looking at you” Alya grinned, “and Adrien couldn’t keep his eyes off you!” 

Marinette turned a deep crimson before Alya continued

“I think when he saw you come out his eyes almost popped out of his head!” she chuckled 

“I for one happen to agree with your very pretty friend, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng”

Both girls stopped dead in their tracks, praying to whoever would listen the voice came without company

“Monsieur Lahiffe” Alya exclaimed, “how convenient of you to show up!” quickly she began scoping the area as Nino smirked

“Not to worry, Mademoiselle Cesaire, I come alone” he finished as the girls collectively sighed, “though I can not say for how much longer” he resumed, now looking at Marinette, “My friend the Vicomte asked me to come this way to find your dressing room for him, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng” 

Once again Marinette blushed, looking down at the floor

“From where you are standing, take a left and continue walking straight down. It should be the largest door in the area—he couldn’t miss it!” Alya answered, a prideful look washing over her face

Nino smirked at her once more, “Thank you for your help, Mademoiselle” he whispered, “I shall go find Adrien and tell him at once!” 

As he was about to leave, Alya grabbed his arm, halting Nino in the process

“Actually, it was a blessing I ran into you,” she said in a low voice, “there is something I wanted to discuss— _ in private _ ” 

Nino blushed before turning to face the girl, “Uh, ho—how can I-I-I hElp” 

Now it was Alya’s turn to laugh

“If you don’t mind, Mari?” she asked, though Marinette knew there was no way Alya was coming back with her

“I know the way to my own dressing room,  _ Mademoiselle _ ” Marinette responded 

“Then I bid you a good night” Alya grinned

“G-good night” Nino repeated after her 

“A good night to you both” Marinette smiled 

“I’ll make sure Vicomte Agreste receives the directions to your dressing room” Alya finally teased, and before Marinette could argue, the two were gone

...

Adrien was not ready. 

He was not ready for tonight, he was not ready to hear her angelic voice, see her true beauty, give her a  _ rose _ . But above all else, Adrien was not ready to be in  **_love_ ** . 

At least, what he thought was love. In all honesty he had never felt anything like it—the warmth enveloping his entire core, an aching which he thought only Marinette could possibly soothe. Somehow, the simple red rose he had picked out seemed much more monumental than it once was, yet it still didn’t feel like enough. 

He would have brought her the whole garden if she wished it

What Nino said so long ago rang through his ears now, “When you find the girl you’re meant to be with you don’t need to wait a lifetime to know she is the one”

But, was Marinette “the one”? 

This whole time, he had been running from the thought—running from his emotions. Seeing anyone in that light, that rose tinted world, was sure to be critical, and now, to hold those feelings for a friend? 

For Marinette? 

After this, could she even still be his friend? He cared for her, and ached to see her again, and thought she was stunningly beautiful, but a friend? At this point, she had to be something larger than that. 

More so, this teacher—whoever this teacher was—Adrien would pay double whatever anyone could offer if it meant Marinette would continue to learn—continue to be happy. She looked so natural standing there, singing in front of the world. From the moment she came on stage Adrien knew he was right: it would all change when Marinette sang 

“Adrien! Friend! You are just where I left you!” Nino cheered 

“Lahiffe—what took you so long? I was sure you were lost” Adrien laughed 

“Fear not friend, I come with excellent news!”

“And that is..?”

“Directions to one Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s dressing room!” he practically shouted. The blush that rose to Adrien’s cheeks made Nino grin even wider, “Come now, Adrien! A Vicomte should really have more poise than that!” he teased 

“Are you going to tell me what took you so long” Adrien sighed, “or is that a story that you would rather keep ‘private’” 

“I’ll do you one better” Nino replied, directly avoiding Adrien’s comment, “I’ll show you to her room myself!” 

“That really wouldn’t be—”

“Come now! The poor girl must be forcing herself to stay awake!” the eager friend began pulling Adrien towards a familiar passage, before finally letting go to allow both some breathing room

“Nino” Adrien looked confused, “this walk should take us all of two minutes” 

“And..?” Nino replied more seriously this time

“And you were gone for nearly 25” he finished, “I’m genuinely concerned about what happened to you. You are usually not so unforthcoming, my friend” 

Once again, Nino avoided the comment, “I for one would rather like to know why  _ you _ didn’t find Marinette’s dressing room, Adrien” he accused instead, “Surely the layout of the building didn’t change too much from the time you were last here” 

Adrien remained silent: Nino had him cornered

“What I believe” he continued, “is that my dear Vicomte  _ wanted  _ me to get lost, if only to buy him some time before meeting with his esteemed guest, and judging by your silence, I’m going to assume I was right” 

The two men were now standing in front of a great oak door, deep and rich in color 

“Here we are, Monsieur le Vicomte” 

Adrien looked around before turning to Nino, “If you wouldn't mind” he sighed “This is one visit I

should prefer to make unaccompanied” 

“As you wish, Monsieur” ...

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, where is your scarf?” 

The question took the girl by surprise. This late into the night Marinette  _ was  _ expecting a voice

Just not  _ this  _ one 

And she definitely didn’t expect it to say  _ that _

“Monsieur?” 

As she looked into the mirror, Marinette could see Adrien Agreste standing directly behind her. With him was a single red rose, which she figured was the object he had been toying with in his lap when she was singing. Now that she had such a close view of him, Marinette remembered what it was like getting lost in his emerald green eyes, wishing he could stay by her side forever 

“You can't have lost it. After all the trouble I took. I was just a young lad and soaked to the skin...”

“...because you had run into the sea to fetch my scarf” 

So, he  _ did _ remember her

And  _ she  _ remembered  _ him _

“Oh Adrien! So it is you!” 

“Marinette”

They embraced and laughed, holding each other for what might have been considered too long if they were accompanied by others, but at the moment, neither seemed to care. As of right now, both were content with standing there, holding on to the other, hoping if they held on long enough all of their lost time would be made up. Adrien was still taller than her by quite a bit, and Marinette’s hair was always rather short. Begrudgingly, the girl started moving away, heading to her dressing room table. While she brushed her hair, Marinette noticed Adrien looking at her through the mirror, singing a song both of them knew well long ago

"Little Lottie let her mind wander..."

“You remember that, too...” she fondly reminisced 

Adrien, now coming closer, continued, “...Little Lottie thought: Am I fonder of dolls..."

"...or of goblins, of shoes..." Marinette joined in 

"...or of riddles of frocks..."

“Those picnics in the attic” Adrien interjected before resuming his singing, “...or of chocolates…’"

“Father playing the violin” she answered 

“As we read to each other dark stories of the North…” he smiled 

Marinette sighed. After such a worrying week, everything finally seemed calm. It felt so right being back with Adrien, even if they were to be nothing more than friends. His singing was enough to put her mind at ease, though she couldn’t help but chuckle at the unrefined sound of his voice. Once upon a different time, Marinette was just like that too, though with enough practice, Chat Noir taught her to unlock the power she now possessed. Chat Noir and Adrien. What would life have been like if they had ever met? Still with this idea in her head, Marinette started to sing the final phrase of the song

"No what I love best, Lottie said, is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!"

“...the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!" they both finished 

Marinette turned from her chair to look at Adrien, before beginning to speak again, “My parents said, ‘When we are in heaven, child, we will send the Angel of Music to you’. Well, they are dead, Adrien, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.” 

“No doubt of it” he responded, “you sounded like an angel tonight” 

He had always wondered what had become of Marinette’s life—what had happened to her parents, what had happened after he had left—and somehow whenever he began thinking of her, Adrien felt the world had not been kind to his Little Lottie. In a way, he was right. The struggles Marinette had to go through were completely distinct from his own: thanks to his parents, he had grown up in a sheltered life, one that the young girl couldn’t possibly know. Still, after all that occurred, Marinette found a way to be content with what she had

And that made him love her even more

“Marinette” he smiled, looking into her big, doe eyes, “won’t you join me for supper?” 

Surely to a young Marinette this day was a dream: a chance at the spotlight and now this? A few years ago the man standing before her was the love of her life—he could still  _ be  _ the love of her life. Feelings like that don’t just go away—she was sure of it—but, tonight? Oh why— _ why _ did it have to be tonight of all nights!   


“I’m sorry, Adrien” she pleaded, “but I must wait for my Angel of music” 

He told her she would see him tonight— _ tonight _ —and this was a moment worth giving up Adrien for

The blonde chuckled, “I shan’t keep you late!” 

“Adrien…”

“You must change” he proceeded, “I must get my hat!” 

The boy smiled as he left the room. Marinette was not one he remembered making jokes often, but he was sure there was much about her that changed in their time apart. 

“Two minutes, Little Lottie” 

“Adrien—wait!”

...

“You must be joking!” Nino shouted, looking at Alya in amazement, “does everyone in this establishment believe in their so called ‘Phantom of the Opera?’” 

“I already told you, Lahiffe! I don’t believe in ghosts” 

“Then tell me, Mademoiselle, why are we having this conversation?” 

“I just need to know what you told Bustier” the redhead calmly stated, “If my hunch is right, you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than whether ghosts exist or not”

“Assuming you and your hunch are correct,” Nino asked, “what do you plan on doing about any of this” 

Truthfully, Alya had not thought about that yet. She knew if Chat Noir was real, then it would be completely out of the question to expose him by herself. First and foremost, Marinette would kill her if she was caught snooping, and in all honesty, Alya didn’t see herself snooping around abandoned—and allegedly haunted—rooms on her own. If convincing Nino was hard, then turning Adrien in her favor would be near impossible, and those who were left seemed to be too afraid of the opera ghost to do anything. 

But she knew things couldn’t go on like this. After seeing Marinette so shaken up, she  _ knew _ something was wrong—things couldn’t stay like this. Regardless if her managers, or peers, or teachers, were to believe her, something had to get done. 

“Fine” Nino’s voice interrupted, “I will divulge the conversation I had with Madame Bustier to you—” 

“Monsieur Lahiffe! Thank you! I knew—” 

“—IF you let me tag along to whatever it is that you think you are doing” 

What? Why would Nino Lahiffe of all people want to preoccupy themself in something so seemingly trivial? Of course, Alya understood it wasn’t, but that was because  _ she  _ was the one to bring it up. It was  _ her _ gut-feeling, but Nino? 

“Listen, Alya” her name from his lips alone was enough to make her scarlet, “I mean no offense when I say this, but” 

She shot up an eyebrow

“But you don’t exactly seem like you have a plan here” he finished 

“And you’re saying you do?” she questioned him mockingly 

“That’s not what I’m saying at all” Nino clarified, “but the two of us together is better than one you with no plan, don’t you think” 

Alya hated to admit it, but the man had a point. Who knew what type of person they would be up against, or what they were even capable of. Nino also had access to more information than Alya could ever get on her own in a reasonable time, plus, he was a little charming. There were worse people to end up being partners with 

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt—or-or” 

“It’s okay, Monsieur” she smiled, “I accept your terms” 

The tall man beamed straightening his tie which somehow became crooked, “Well then, I should start by telling you all the staff in this house seem to be very cautious of angering this ‘Chat Noir’” Nino began 

“And you are not?” 

“Maybe I should be” he answered truthfully, “to be perfectly transparent with you, my dear, I have been feeling quite jittery lately” 

“Oh?” 

“Almost as if my every move is being observed” 

“I’m not sure if this will bring you much comfort,” Alya whispered, “but you are not the first I’ve heard say such a thing” 

“You’re right” Nino laughed anxiously, “I’m not sure whether I feel relieved of thoroughly disturbed” 

“So, Bustier is afraid of the ghost?” 

This information wasn’t exactly news to anyone: for a long time, no one could even reference Chat Noir without being punished by one of the higher ups. Everyone seemed to be nervous regarding the legends of his destruction, and more importantly, his short temper from which said destruction stems from

“Not just afraid, Love” again, she blushed, “Apparently this ghost has a salary!”

“A salary?” 

That was ridiculous! What on earth could a ghost even need a salary for? That was unless of course Alya’s original suspicion had been correct from the very start.

There was no ghost 

Just a title

“It was said Gabriel Agreste paid him up to 400 francs a week” Nino claimed 

“Don’t you find it ridiculous, Monsieur? What would a ghost require a salary for in the first place?” 

“That’s exactly what I asked, Mademoiselle” his mouth curled into a grin, “If I had to take a guess, there must be a sort of pact within the troop in which they tyrannize the superiors into giving them money, and then they split it between themselves” 

“An excellent theory, Lahiffe, except I think it goes one step farther” 

“And that is?” 

“If there is a group extorting our managers, one of the so-called members must be masquerading as Chat Noir. That way, they could keep the rest of the house at bay, claiming a disaster greater than they could imagine might happen if their orders are not met”

“And because of the stigma behind these alleged hauntings, they get a easy cover”

“Exactly” 

Working with Nino would not be difficult at all, especially if he was this fast on his feet. Now that they had a stable hypothesis, gathering evidence would be the next logical step, though, something in Alya’s heart told her it would not be this easy


	3. The Phantom of the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of anticipation, Marinette finally comes face to face with her angel. What was it they called the Phantom of the Opera?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa I'm back!?! yeah, it's been a while, but I'm back...kinda? I have a new chapter at least! lol. Maybe I'll update more often, but don't get any hopes up, I'm still a lazy bum. Anyway! Enjoy this strange chapter, and stick around for the notes at the bottom so I can clear a few things up! Love y'all and hope you've been good 
> 
> PS Nino and Alya will be back next time!!

“Adrien— wait!” 

The blonde was already out the door before Marinette had the chance to say more. Only she would be unfortunate enough for timing this terrible, and yet, something about the way he acted felt different tonight. Of course, time would do that to a person, and Adrien, who recently lost his father, had every excuse as to his change of character. But it was something about his eyes, something about the way the emerald orbs looked at her tonight…

What Marinette would have given to be looked at like that back then

Surely it still phased some part of her: Adrien was her first love after all, the first boy to ever hold her heart so utterly and completely it almost hurt. Some part of her lived in the realm where they could still end up together— whole— just like she dreamt of as a young girl. Tonight, however, was not the night to be fantasizing about such things. 

Although it was late, Marinette sat waiting, eyelids threatening sleep, as she searched for any sign of her angel— of Chat Noir. He  _ promised _ her the night she sang would be their first meeting, and well, she sang just as he promised her 

And she promised him 

In a last ditch effort to stay awake, Marinette sang her old lullaby, tempting Chat to come out “No— what I love best, Lottie said, is when I’m asleep in my bed, and the angel of music sings songs in my head...the angel of music sings songs...in my...head....” 

Suddenly a light flickered from the mirror. Turning, the noirette expected to see Adrien, hat in hand, leaning against the door frame, eager to whisk her away for dinner. Promptly, she would shut down his affections, excusing it as an aching need to sleep, and promise him an outing the next day, or of course, whenever he was free. Running an opera house was most likely not a small task, something Marinette was willing to accommodate to.

Or maybe she would leave with him. Forget Chat Noir and Alya and sleep. Forget all her worries and fears and questions as she took Adrien’s hand, begging to take her wherever he went— as long as she was not alone.

As long as she was with  _ him _

Instead, she found a closed oak door, the same which had been closed by Adrien minutes ago. There was no light, no boy, no  _ love _ waiting for her, only the closed door. But that was impossible! The mirror had clearly reflected a light, one which seemingly had no source, and she, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, saw it! Sleep deprived as she was, she saw it gleaming, calling out to her and whispering sweet nothings of the future. Asking her, edging her to think about all the dreams and anxieties and worries she had locked away long ago

Looking back towards the mirror, she once again saw the light. There was no mistaking it this time; it was right there. Frantically, she started searching the room. It felt like the poor girl was losing her mind, slipping away slowly until she saw something just beyond the light 

_ A figure  _

It was tall, and lanky, and barely noticeable, yet it was unshakably there. The light, which was not floating on its own but being  _ held _ , stood present as ever, though soon enough it began inching closer

_ It had noticed her _

Whatever that  _ thing  _ was in the mirror had noticed her and  _ god it was moving closer _ . A shiver ran down Marinette’s spine as she stared, gaping into the mirror. The speed was constant, almost as if it wanted to give Marinette time to adjust, or run if she really wanted to, but she instead stayed glued to her seat, eyes fixated on the object now double in size. Is this what she had been waiting for all night? Was this— 

“Insolent boy! This slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor, sharing in your triumph!” The voice came from behind her ear, booming in a silent way. There was no way it should have been possible. No one was here! No one was behind her! The door was locked, and aside from whatever it was in the mirror, Marinette was completely alone

But she had known that voice, heard it enough times to shiver in delight at its smooth, deep tone and answer, “Angel! I hear you! Speak— I listen...stay by my side, guide me! Enter at last, Master!” She would have cringed if she wasn’t so spell bound, voice dripping with curiosity, squealing in delight. Marinette swore she heard a light airy chuckle as Chat Noir called her, beckoning her with his song 

“Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide: look at your face in the mirror— I am there inside” 

Finally the figure of Chat Noir became discernible from behind the mirror, and immediately, Marinette was drawn to his eyes. They were a vibrant blue-grey, feigning as empty, but so full of hope and love and wonders, she swore they belonged to someone else 

The only other eyes she knew to be so fierce belonged to her new manager

They radiated in the dark, shining brighter than even the torch at his side, eyeing her with an expression she had not recognized the meaning of. It felt intense, electric even, exchanging a gaze with Chat Noir, yet these eyes...they did not feel like the ones she was afraid of— the ones which had been stalking her every move. As she left her trance, Marinette began taking notice of the rest of him, now ready to face whatever he had been afraid of 

She knew he was lean— that much was obvious before she could see his face— but most of Chat Noir’s body hid behind a black cloak, masking him brilliantly in the dark. In fact, most of him had been encased in the color, making it hard for any  _ specific  _ figure to be seen, yet presenting a perfect opportunity for his eyes to glow. Eyes, speaking of which, that had been shifting inside a black mask, splayed across his upper face, finishing on a point ending on his nose. His jawline was sharp, beautifully so, and the skin that could be seen on, and only, his face was shockingly pale— milky almost. His hands, which were hidden by gloves, had no sharp claws visibly on them, something Marinette heard, and refused to believe, in most of his “ghost” stories. Interestingly enough, the most laughable part of said stories was real, taking the form of two rather large ears sitting right atop a mop of pale, blonde hair, longer than what she had anticipated. In short, Chat Noir was beautiful 

Hauntingly so 

“Angel of Music! Guide and guardian! Grant to me your glory! Angel of Music! Hide no longer! Come to me, strange angel” She was ecstatic, and ridiculous, and stupid, and tired, but she was  _ estatic _ . Marinette was  _ looking  _ at him, her friend, her teacher 

_ Her angel _

The person she looked up to and followed— trusted— her whole life with, the person she had admired in secret for so long. She felt warmth radiate from him even through his cold facade, a welcoming sensation pulling her closer and closer and closer. This time he whispered, calculating and perfectly but so  _ sincere _ . She melted knowing it was a melody— a message— just for her, “I am your angel...come to me: Angel of music”

He was there, just beyond the mirror, right in her grasp…

And then, a voice from behind the door

...

“Whose is that voice…?”

“Who  _ is  _ that in there?”

Adrien’s usually calm voice flooded with urgency, rattling the old door handle leading into Marinette’s dressing room. It was too late for anyone to be there, and even if a few performers were up and about, he certainly didn’t trust any of them with his childhood friend so late at night.

His heart twitched. No— no not friend. 

His  _ love _

Now he shook the knob manically, twisting and turning, hoping that somehow it would give in: the young Agreste was strong, but these doors were too heavy for even Tom Dupain to bust through. When had he locked it, anyway? Surely it was open when he left, when he went for his hat— it hadn’t even been that long. Either way, the key should have  _ been there _ , hanging in the lock, signature black tassel dangling down its side.

Unless whoever was in there had locked it

“Marinette!” he called frantically, but there was no answer. From the inside, he heard shifting, before a quiet voice teased, “I am your angel...come to me: Angel of music” 

His heart dropped to his stomach, once again calling the familiar name only to be met with no response. Still, the boy did not give up. Clearly the door would not open, and though he wasn’t a match for the solid oak doors, Adrien slammed his weight against them, taking most of the blow to his shoulder. Once, twice, three times he rushed into the barriers, shuddering each time they would not budge. He had half the mind to run and find Nino, or Madame Bustier, or  _ anyone _ who might have a spare key to the room. There was no evidence, no reason to suspect Marinette to be in any danger, and yet, he could not bear the thought of leaving her, in case he was wrong 

By some miracle, the doors suddenly swung open, a soft click indicating they had been unlocked, but he was too late 

The room sat still, as it had once been, and was empty, not a trace of Marinette in sight 

“Marinette! Angel!”

...

She gasped as the mirror opened and revealed a long passageway, one she had never noticed before. Chat stood in front of an inferno of white light, finally in her line of reach, bending down towards her hand. He reached forward and took her wrist firmly, but not fiercely, as she shuddered from his touch

He was so warm 

Once again, Chat repeated the lines he whispered to her while in the “mirror”, never breaking his gaze from hers, “I am your Angel of Music...come to me: Angel of Music…” A playful quality danced in his voice, almost mocking Marinette for the silly nickname and unnecessary praise she gave him. Hearing it clearly took her aback, and Chat chuckled, pulling her closer to his side. He was notorious for an ice cold demeanor, one that reminded her why fears of the Phantom of the Opera were so prevalent in the troop, but he couldn’t help himself tonight. Truthfully, he had been just as excited, and nervous, as she must have been readying himself. 

Never letting go of her hand, Chat guided Marinette down the narrow corridor, lighting the path in front of him with the torch. He hardly needed the light, however, and in the end it was mostly brought along for Marinette’s sake. There were many things he would have to tell her, and many questions she must have had, but for now, finally holding her in his hand, this was enough. A smile threatened to burst out of his face as Chat noticed the pink dusting her cheeks on the walk to the small lake, a fact he was entirely too proud of being the reason for. When they approached the water, he could see Marinette’s eyes widen, surprised as to how such a large terrain was kept hidden from her for so many years. Quickly, she was drawn to a small boat which sat neatly at the edge of the lake, steady enough for her to step into. Once seated, the black cat took his place in front of her, grabbing a large paddle to push them off of the bank and into the darkness. Here, not much light seeped through, and to either comfort him or herself, Marinette began to sing 

“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came…” her voice resonated in his ears, settling whatever jitters Felix hadn’t realized he had been carrying. Marinette was quiet, unusually so when she sang for him, though this time, he supposed, was different. This time, he stood in the same room, same  _ space _ , as she did, unblocked by any object, fully exposed to the girl, “that voice which calls to me and speaks my name…” 

He lapped it all up, letting the sound of her voice soothe him, calm him as he navigated the dark waters. Surely it was too dark for her to see much, but the torch continued burning lighting a small space around her as Marinette continued singing

"And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there— inside my mind...” The chuckle was much too soft for her to hear, but there was no denying Felix had done it. Somehow, the “Phantom of the Opera” didn’t sound nearly as bad when she said it

When she  _ sang  _ it 

Marinette was always calling him things like that: angel, master, phantom, and though Felix would have let her call him anything she liked, part of him blushed whenever she did so. Really, he wasn’t all that much— if anything, he was shocked when Marinette took a fondness to him,  _ his real figure _ — as fast as she did. Chat had been especially cold to her, in a way more to protect  _ his _ heart more so than her own 

But just for right now, if it meant she was his completely for this moment, he was okay with being selfish 

Once he realized she’d stopped singing, his heart plunged. It was easy to tell she had been embarrassed— flustered around him— though he had yet to pin-point why. Felix knew singing had always been a release for her— much like it was for him— and if all she needed was a little encouragement to resume, he would give it to her 

Because Felix would give her the world 

Now it was his turn, a low, silky voice came from the night, convincing Marinette what she had done was okay, that he was comfortable— that he had  _ enjoyed it _ . Felix was a jokester, something that she would have never expected from what she had seen of him, but even Marinette had to admit his frank response made her giggle

And blush slightly more

“Sing once again with me, our strange duet…” he purred, pausing before he grinned, “My power over you, grows stronger yet…” The pink which playfully danced on Marinette’s cheeks was crawling up to her ears and down her neck, now in a much deeper shade of red.  _ He was teasing her _ . The girl noticed it earlier, in her dressing room— the playful tone of his voice when Chat called himself her “Angel of Music”, and now he stood right in front of her, smiling, as he sang of his power over her. 

If only he knew how real— how  _ strong _ — that power truly was 

Marinette looked away, anywhere but toward his all seeing eyes, hoping to hide the blush consuming her body, “And though you turn from me, to glance behind,” Chat cooed, delicately grabbing her face and shifting her gaze back up at him, “the Phantom of the Opera is there— inside your mind” He stroked a thumb over her soft cheek, voice low and just meant for her to hear— not that anyone else was remotely nearby. This time when he said it, though, there was no smirk, or tease, or playfulness behind it. Felix was really okay being the Phantom of the Opera if it somehow made her comfortable, if it made her feel like Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng sent him personally— just for her 

If it distracted her from the reality that he was just a love-struck fool, who had no fate attached to him that wasn’t grim 

Marinette picked up on the sorrow slowly washing over his expressions, soft as ever, replacing the smirk Chat wore before. Calling him the Phantom of the Opera had been a bad move on her part, and she winced, cringing as to what that really meant— or what it  _ must have meant _ . He wasn’t evil, or malicious, or even horrifying to look at, and by calling him the Phantom of the Opera— who was  _ supposed  _ to be all those things— felt wrong. 

But to her— to  _ Marinette _ — it was a term of endearment, in some weird, twisted way. _ Because she knew the real Phantom of the Opera _ , and Chat wasn’t a dastardly ghost like everyone claimed he was in their stories. He was a musician, a teacher,  _ a friend _ , and now, this time more confidently, Marinette returned his melody, hoping she could convey everything she meant— everything she  _ felt _ — in song, just as he so eloquently could, “Those who have seen your face draw back in fear…” looking up, she smiled and met his eyes, warm as ever, “I am the mask you where…” 

She was there now, Marinette, as he knew her, when she sang for him. The beauty of her fluid voice nearly drowned him, left him gasping, heaving for more air. This—  _ this  _ is why he loved her. When Marinette was in her own element, confident enough to take over the world, she blew everyone else out of the water. It was an ability there in everything she did: she sang that way, she danced that way...she  _ loved _ that way. It made Felix aspire to be the man he wanted to be—  _ knew he could be _ — and though it wasn’t just for her, he knew Marinette  _ had  _ to be in his life _ somehow  _ when this was all over 

Felix had no claim to her, hell, he didn’t really exist outside of a small handful of people, but it was so easy to get carried away and dream— dream of a life with her, with Marinette, in a reality where she loved him as much as he loved her. It was too much, too much to think about— too much to handle— especially with her sitting so closely next to him. So instead, he focused on her song, taking a deep breath, and finishing her phrase, “it’s me they hear” and as he began singing the next line, her voice found his, swelling and brimming with conviction so clearly, she drowned him out effortlessly

But he knew he didn’t stand a chance

Together they sang, as they had before, as they would keep doing forever more if she wished it— and  _ god _ he hoped he did— in perfect harmony, 

“My spirit and your voice” he called 

“Your spirit and my voice” she echoed 

“In one combined” it was perfect, everything from the harmony to the tempo, to the  _ moment _ had been perfect, and keeping it so, they continued, their music entwining at last, “the Phantom of the Opera is there— “

“Inside your mind” he finished softly 

“Inside my mind” she echoed, once more 

As music washed over them, Marinette could see the end of the canal, illuminated with hundreds of burning candles. Aside from the torch next to her, the journey to wherever she was had been much like Chat— cloaked and hidden in the dark— so the light was welcome, basking over her eyes, her skin, as she once again heard Chat sing, “In all your fantasies, you always knew” The voices of the troop inched their way into Marinette’s head, singing, warning her of the dangers she found herself in. They never knew if he was real— if he was truly  _ there _ — but they were all cautious of him, fearing what Chat Noir was capable of 

_ Beware, the Phantom of the Opera  _ they sang ever present in her mind, yet Marinette couldn’t help but shake them away. Not Alya, or Kim, or Ivan had the slightest idea on what Chat was really like, and for one blissful moment, the young chorus girl felt fulfilled. The man behind her continued performing, and none of the voices, or warnings, or cautions broke Marinette from the trance he put her in, “that man and mystery…”

“...were both in you…” she sighed, feeling almost relieved to be singing with him again. She was his answer, and would always be, echoing and following whatever notes left his mouth. Chat Noir truly was a genius, something not limited to just his composing, as his voice swelled and boomed past her. Marinette was more than eager to join him in the chorus, willing to meet him halfway, “And in this labyrinth, where night is blind…”

“The Phantom of the Opera is there” 

“The Phantom of the Opera is here”

“Inside your mind” 

“Inside my mind…” 

Felix didn’t want it to be over, not now, not ever. The light at the end of the tunnel was approaching, looming over them angrily, scolding him for making Marinette wait so long to finally meet, but he couldn’t help it.  _ He couldn’t help any of it _ . The noirette was so intoxicating, so enticing, her voice calmed him, pacified him in a way only one other could before, and he just didn’t want it to end. He couldn’t let it. Dipping his head down to her ear, he whispered, though he wanted to shout it to the world, one request, one favor he absolutely  _ had  _ to ask, “Sing, my Angel of Music” 

Marinette shifted slightly, coming face to face with the man in front of her, before shutting her eyes, giving all she could to the command he had just given her. Really, it wasn’t much of a command at all. Marinette was bursting with song, with music, aching to get it all out, tired, devastatingly so, but imploding as everything washed around her. Each sense had been overworked, over used,  _ overbearing _ , but singing— and singing for  _ him _ — came second nature. The girl didn’t even need to think as she opened her mouth, yearning to get the notes out,  _ willing to do whatever he said _ , “He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera...”

He beamed and grinned like a mad-man as she began vocalizing strangely, each second becoming more extravagant than the last.  _ It was beautiful _ . Her song, her nature, they all floored him. She sang until the boat came to a complete stop, letting the music and darkness flow through her, unphased by her surroundings. Felix had never heard anything like it, a song so full of passion and wanting, hopeful and greedy all at the same time. Again, his mouth curled, unapologetic as he realised it was all for  _ him _ . She sang— at this very moment— just for  _ him _ , and he  _ reveled _ in it. Triumphantly, she came at a stop, the end to the song, and opened her bluebell eyes. 

Blushing, she let out a small gasp, eventually moving to look around her. In the end, her eyes made their way back to his, and her breath hitched, stunned by the vibrant blue staring back at her. Felix frowned as he took a long, proper look at her, studying each feature, committing it to memory. Of course, he had known what she looked like, though now, being so close, nothing else could compare to her beauty. Still, dark circles encased her eyes, and realising he had taken her away from a much needed rest, Felix exited the boat, grabbing her by her hand and leading the small woman onto the steady ground. She tripped and fell against him, clutching onto his chest as she heaved, calming her breath. Against the light, Chat Noir had a much clearer figure than before, yet the cloak he wore did much too good of a job in hiding it. Realising she clung to him, Marinette pulled back, frantically, as she tumbled away and towards the ground. Chat only laughed, keeping a firm hand on hers, drawing her into him once more. In a shaky voice, she uttered the first words to him that night which were not sung

“H-hello, Ch-Chat”

He smiled, eyes pure and full of emotion, recognizing her speaking voice, just like she recognized his 

“Hello, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've recently fell into the pit that is lukanette, and literally, sdufiugfskdgfusghoweigushgs. Some of these writers, they are literal gods yk? So I got to thinking, instead of rewriting this into a lukanette fic, I would just make Felix a little more Luka (if that makes any sense?) I know, I know, part of Fe's charm is his cold personality, but do not despair! He will still remain our grumpy little kitten if I can pull this off. Also idk if I could have broken Luka's heart IF (and that's a BIG if) she ended up w someone else...
> 
> No spoilers ,':-)
> 
> Also, this chapter H E A V I L Y relied on the lyrics of the original sound track, and while it was fun writing, not all of them will follow this format. I'm still going to take this story to my own place, and I will not be following the plot of the musical note for note (get it??) Final thing: this chapter also kinda switches A LOT between Marinette and Felix's reactions/feelings, and everytime Felix's name is used, he is the one thinking, since Marinette has no idea who he his
> 
> Okay! Sorry for the ramble, it's just been so long!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and maybe I'll see you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys wanna know where I got the inspiration to write this, go check out Beahappy! (be warned it's a lukanette anamatic!)
> 
> Don't wanna brag, but I was subbed before like, 200 :-P
> 
> Also if you want some more of my Miraculous stuff check out Miraculous Ladybug: Dark Magic! For those of you who don't know, I re-wrote it so it actually makes sense now! It will be continued!
> 
> Please stay safe out there and remember to be kind to each other


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